


A Truly Kinky 'Tober 2020

by JKSkullQueen218 (JokersJester)



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Dubious Consent, I won't improve otherwise, Kinktober 2019, Kinktober 2020, Let's go for a PR, M/M, Sanscest - Freeform, Somnophilia, Spectrophilia, does this one count as a rare-pair?, idk...'shrugs', kustard - Freeform, more tags with more chapters, more than one page, please give feedback, should I count dusttale paps as a character...?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-15 02:41:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20858891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JokersJester/pseuds/JKSkullQueen218
Summary: As I stated before, I'm just a writer trying to improve their skill by writing various forms of skeletons fornicating~This is going to be a combination of last years single kinktober chapter, and this years hopefully many more. Read, laugh, and tell me what I could do to do better. I won't improve if no one tells me anything. Plus, Fornicating skele's~Happy 2020 Kinktober, everybody!





	1. Somnophilia, 2019

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have a lot of confidence with this whole project, and this didn't turn out the way I wanted it too, but I need to post it now or I'll be behind...Using my own Kinktober Prompt list. Happy October everyone! (P.S.: This was an old note from last year.)

Watching the other sleep, ribs moving with unneeded breaths, Red found he rather liked watching Sans sleep. The other skeleton rested often, due to the absurd amount of naps he slipped into throughout the day, but seldom did Red see the other truly relaxed and at peace.

Laying against the cushions of the couch was the most defenseless monster in the underground. It would’ve irked Red if he hadn’t found it so captivating.

Gently, Red rested a hand against the others zygomatic arch. Deep sleep brought on by a day of actual work, something the other must not be used to (The lucky bastard), Sans’ sleeping form lay unperturbed.

Testing his luck, Red bent down low and breathed softly against the others face. A shiver racked the smaller frame, but nothing more. Jacket on the ground, Sans lay out cold, no thought given to use a blanket for a cover. All that kept him from the hands of a stranger were some clothes and a trust in the house around him.

How foolish.

Moving away from the other’s sleeping face, Red carefully moved the others waistband. Snagging it with a phalanx, Red dragged it slowly down slim femurs and marveled at the exposed bone.

It wasn’t that long ago that the softer skeleton confessed his pain. It wasn’t that long ago, earlier that day, that the other ‘Sans’ had given into grief and lost any hope of returning home.

It wasn’t that long ago that Red shut that crying mouth up with his own.

Boundaries were real, even in this hellish universe. Red knew to never cross certain boundaries or else wind up losing his head, via Boss or another cruel bastard, so he knew.

He knew, and he didn’t goddamn care.

Sans was a breath of fresh air, hypothetically speaking. Someone that looked to him in askance of protection and safety, hope unwilling to give up on even another version of himself. That vulnerability, in this dangerous underground, was something rare and beautiful and easily crushed. It caused a fiercely possessive instinct within the rougher skeleton’s soul, demanding he claim and protect what was his. Before someone else did.  
Blowing hot breath against the others bare pelvis, causing a delightful shiver, Red gently messaged his way around soft bone. Unmarked and pristinely beautiful, Red had to stop himself before he got too rough. Hands too used to the feel of fighting, of roughly dusting another, soft touches were foreign to him. Giving them was uniquely different and wholly terrifying all at once.

Looking up to make sure the other was still sound asleep, Red found himself staring at the blue coloring on his counterpart’s face. Blue magic, a rare color in the underground, lit up the other’s arches. That beautiful blue caused a rueful red magic to collect underneath his clothes.

Taking in a heavy breath, soul beating fast, Red circled a phalanx on Sans’ vertebrae. Movement, the shift of a face had him freezing in place. When the other let out a content sigh, Red continued forward. One hand stroking the inner spine, another hand gently settled against Sans’ pubic symphysis. A hitched breath that lead straight into a soft moan, Red tickled the area with greater satisfaction with every elicited sound from the other.

Sans moved slightly, unconsciously trying to dissuade the unfamiliar touch from continuing, but a steady hand on the others pelvis left the sleeping form unmoved. Puffs of hot breath escaped the others mouth now, with growing heat building up beneath Reds phalanges. Continuing his ministrations, Red allowed his other hand to run along the other’s ribs, softly familiarizing itself with the others landscape of bone.

Valley’s of unmarred bone rest beneath Red’s hand. He reached up underneath the others shirt, higher and higher till-

He froze.

Lifting the shirt with one hand, Red found himself focused on a large indent against the others rib cage. As he followed it with his eyes, a large discoloration on white bone, an ugly emotion ripped its way through Red’s soul. A possessive fierceness ran along his vertebrae, ending and halting his phalanges.

MINE

Nearly snarling now, Red gently traced the large scar on what was his. Hearing the following moan come from the other made him pause. Softly, gently, Red messaged the sensitive area, letting go his anger in place of watching the other all but melt at the touch.

Shivers ran along Sans’ form, and Red sped forward with his actions. Moving above the others sleeping form, taking pubis and sternum in hand, Red found himself wanting to see the other suffer. Suffer the way he was suffering, in aching want and need.

Sans was gasping, body moving against his to find sweet friction. Craving instinctively that desired pleasure and release. Red was all too happy to help it along.

“Your beautiful…” He whispered, bending low to nuzzle directly onto the others temporal bone. He received likewise as the other craved his affection. Even unconscious, Sans was begging him for his tenderness and protection. It made Red’s head spin.

“Give me your heart and soul, sweetheart,” He asked desperately. He thought he heard a rather harsh gasp, as he continued, “Give in and I’ll make you mine.”

Having not lifted his phalanges, Red hadn’t allowed the others magic to take form. Rubbing and caressing bone, Red found himself yearning for the day he’d be allowed to actually take the other; soul, magic and all. He’d take what he could now but leave the rest to be given to him willingly.

With unformed magic gathering in his pelvis, Red watched as the other came undone in his sleep below him, gasping and moving against his hands. When the other came, a choked sound dragged out, his arms grabbed at Red for stability as he rode through his orgasm. Sweaty, and hands grasping, Sans unwound and finally relaxed as he un-arched his spine from the other above him.

Red watched on, maliciously content that Sans’ sleep went undisturbed. Sleep deeper in fact, Red fixed the other into a more modest position with his clothes on correctly. Later in the morning, Sans would wake up to fine himself covered in a blanket.


	2. Somnophilia, Take Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI: Same scenario as chapter 1, just different PoV. In case it's not clear.

Sans sleeps.

That’s what he’s known for, taking a nap whenever it suited him and just taking life easy. Ask anyone.

So when the time came for him to fall asleep on the edgy version of his dingy couch after a hard day of actual work, Sans welcomed sleep a little more readily than usual. He didn’t have time to worry about a blanket when the land of dreams called to him with their ketchup waterfalls and younger Brothers happily in sight. What was a thin blanket to all that, anyways.

He was completely content to spend the next day or so lost in his sleepy paradise, uncaring of the verbal thrashing his not-brother would give him upon waking up for being so lazy.

Being half awake and rudely thrown out of said dream was not planned. Or appreciated, at all.

Sans couldn’t say he knew what was going on, he was still way too out of it to register proper reality from subconscious illusions. He could registur the cold air on his bones, and the possible presence of another, but his mind’s muddled state only cared about immediate sensations and took them as priority. He simply wasn’t present enough to care about anything more.

Relief trickled through him as a warm gust of air chased away the uncomfortable cold, a shiver racing up his spine with the contrast. The feeling of warm hands messaging his bones felt near and far away at the same time.

Whether it was a dream or not, Sans tried to disway the touches and their foreign sensations by moving away. A firm hold kept him from doing so, and his energy quickly ran out in defeat and acceptance. He was sleepy, afterall. The touches continued, and Sans didn’t care enough to fight them off.

His magic responded to the sensations by following them, warming up his frame as the touches continued. Warm air continued to circle his usually hidden parts, and hands moved to caress and press against sensitive spots. His spine was gently stroked, while a pressure rubbed firmly over his symphysis deliciously.

Sans was drowning in the sensations his bones were enjoying. Lost in the fogginess between wakefulness and deep sleep, Sans responded readily to the instantaneous sensations his body fed his mind.

He moaned without knowing, gasped for nothing and tensed as pleasurable pressure built more and more.

What was happening…? 

The pressure, it felt really...good..

There was a hand on his chest, stroking over his sensitive scar. It all combined into a pleasurable haze that his body craved to continue. Craved to build more and more and _ more... _

“Ah,” he gasped, his magic fighting to form, but was kept from doing so by the firm pressure on his symphysis. It was everything he wanted and yet still so frustrating. He _ needed _ something to form, but the way his magic reacted to the barrier was mind-numbingly pleasant. And it kept _ building_...

“You’re beautiful…” Said a voice. Sans’ mind tried to focus on it, but the pressure between his legs took priority. He did, however, nuzzle back against the gentle touch and warm breath on his skull. The heat of both their breaths warmed his face up, his gasps and moans chasing the others' voices.

“Give me your heart and soul, sweetheart,” Sans heard a moment later, and the pleasure kept picking up, faster. The desperation in the voice directly above him, it’s emotion and the pressure were enough for him to open his eyes and see the seductive picture on top of him. See the hands firmly set on giving him pleasure, as the face above his shockingly vulnerable and honest. The entire situation had him gasping harshly as his mind helpfully ran with that vulnerable desperation and fed it to his building pleasure.

“Give in and I’ll make you mine.” The painful pleasure Sans got from his magic’s inability to form thanks to the skilled hand between his legs was quickly pushing him towards the edge. He couldn’t help the desperate way his body moved for the hands on him, driving him towards infinity.

As his body tensed, Sans choked out a moan as he tipped over, hands grasping the other above him as those hands rode him out completely.

He sagged back against the coach as his mind got lost in a post-orgasmic haze, and Sans accepted the creeping haze of sleep his body longed for. Having not been entirely awake, his mind was clearly eager to lose itself once more as well. When he felt something warm, soft and cozy cover him, he was gone.

Guess blankets are worth more than he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Sitting sideways in directors chair with the beret and megaphone cone, smiling* "whada'ya think?"


	3. Spectrophilia

Some of these universes creeped Error the fuck out.

An Au with nothing but human killing cats, for example. No matter how he looked at it, hearing that many cats groans and hiss and shriek in a dimly lit cave underground made his non-existent skin crawl. Nevermind the echo flowers boosting the sound off every wall around him.

He finished up ripping the whole mistake to shreds with his comforting blue strings <strike> _ that were a painful reminder of his abominable existence _ **-** </strike> and moved on.

Entering the next Au, Error sighed in relief at the change of scenery around him. Really, only someone as fucked up as Ink could ever truly like something like that. He smiled as he observed the different underground around him, noting significant changes from the last.

It felt less like a horror rip-off and more like a semi-normal rip-off based on the lighting from above and lack of dust or blood in the snow around the clearing he ended up in. It worked for him, less ratty cats.

Crossing his arms behind his skull, Error made his way leisurely towards the Ruins entrance, the sound of snow crunching under his slippers resounding within the silence. Maybe he’ll be lucky and have entered during a genocide route, he really didn’t want to miss the rerun of his favourite episode of Undernovela. The Inkstain wouldn’t be interrupting him this time, he’d be too busy playing protector with Golden Boy against Goopmare.

Heh, man he loved lazy days.

Stopping before the purple doors in front of him, Error reminisced the first time he’d destroyed an Au. The memory was touchy, not entirely clear for him to see, but of what he did remember he enjoyed; a stark realization, the joy that followed, the rush of adrenaline shifting into the destructive high he was now oh so familiar with, <strike> _ the unbearable noise in his skull as he heard the cries of creators mourning their creations _ **-** </strike>

Suffice to say, it was a moment he was fond of. The moment in his life when everything finally made sense.

With a crazed, demented sort of excitement, Error raised his knuckles up to initiate the classic interaction between Sentry and Queen. Call him sentimental, but he wanted to taste a bit of nostalgia before he destroyed her forever.

“KnOck kNocK.” Thankfully, the door would be thick enough to hide most of the distortion in his voice, allowing him to pass it off as some sort of cold.

“Oh, you’re back again! And so soon too!” The lonely monster on the other side responded. Error frowned.

“YoU’rE sUPposEd tO Say ‘wHo’s tHeRe?’” He chastised lightly. Couldn’t be too harsh, or else the illusion would break. He heard a giggle through the door and the proper response. He smiled.

“Bug.” Man, he loved puns. No one seemed to get his sense of humor, though, which was tragic. They were always too busy screaming or crying. He got a ‘bug who?’ and let a natural smile take over as he relaxed.

“Go Bug sOmEone eLse, i’M toO buSy at thE moMenT.” He heard a snort, and actually enjoyed the sound of real laughter at his joke. The trapped souls hanging from his ceiling could get pretty boring after a while.

“My, that was a unique one. I enjoyed that very much.” The goat monster praised him, and Error relished the compliment. He _ was _ that good, he knew, people were just too boring to see how funny he was. He went to start another joke, but was interrupted by the Queen's concerned tone. “I must ask though, friend. Is your voice alright? It sounds a little off…?”

“I’m fiNE. I’m SupPosed To be Out hEre cAtchIng HumAns, bUt All I caUght wAs a Dumb CoLd, hEh.” He responded coolly. A few more lines of faux concern and Error was ready to start up the battle of wits again.

“Huh?” Came a confused noise from behind him. Error froze before quickly turning around to face off against the local Sans. Eh, it was fun while it lasted.

When his eyelights landed on the other, however, Error stilled. His body refused to move as he focused on the ghost of a skeleton not far from him. He couldn’t even move his arms up to drag his strings out and tie the abomination up.

Both stood, or floated, frozen in their spots, unable to make the first move. Error’s head started to ache as he unwillingly refocused back on the Voices talking in his head, the sense of deja vu hitting him strongly in a wrongness sort of way. Unlike the happy nostalgia from a few moments ago.

There was another thing bugging him, however. It was a small thing to notice at the moment, but one he couldn’t fully ignore as he took the other in.

Was that a Lust outfi-

“Sans? Are you there?” Came a concerned voice from the door behind him. He’d forgotten about the lady for a moment, confusion still flooding his thoughts as he tried to understand the situation he was in.

“Yeah, I’m here Lady, just got a new guest to take care of out here is all.” The Sans called out. He rested a hand on his exposed hip as he floated in place, an eyebrow raised in curiosity.

That was definitely a slutty outfit. On a ghostly skeleton to boot.

Error finally got out of his shock, hands moving to clutch at the nest of strings under his sockets, but his attention was quickly diverted as he heard the groaning of the Ruin doors opening. He turned and caught the image of Toriel as a ghost in a rather revealing outfit, something that caused a war in his skull.

On one hand the entire situation felt wrong, the specters around him caused a ricochet of resentment and terror to flood his system and briefly caused him to pause. He was lost in a forgotten, horrible memory. On the other, the unmistakable attire of Underlust kept him from falling straight into a Crash, the one distortion to the memory trying to swallow him whole keeping him grounded in the present.

He needed to destroy them.

“Oh my, Sans who is this? I thought I was conversing with you, but I’m clearly mistaken.” The ghostly Queen said to her friend, keeping her empty eyes on the Error. The Skele-ghost had the same idea.

“Don’t know, but it looks like they’re not doin’ too good. Maybe they need a little help?” The Ghost-Lust asked openly…

“Oh, that must be it. It does get terribly painful when one is without proper care after a while.” Ghost Toriel agreed. Lost in his mind and frozen to the spot, Error didn’t notice the phantoms drawing closer to his form. He only snapped out of his hazy thoughts when he felt something touch his arm gently.

Flinching away, Error tried to spot the offending limb responsible, but only found transparent bone in place of a physical hand. He looked up and found sympathetic looks from both ghost monsters, his voice stuck in his non-existent throat as he tried to shout for them to go away.

“Please, don’t be scared. We only want to help.” Phantom Tori explained. She lifted a hand to his arm, and he flinched away just as it made semi-contact.

He expected the following burn at being touched, but when it didn’t happen he stared at the point of contact with obvious confusion. Phantom Tori tried again.

“How hurt must you have been to respond to touch like this…?” It was said with sorrow, but Error paid it no attention as he blearily studied the non-touch on him. His mind was unable to comprehend this revelation, already burdened with the stress of a terrible memory and the symptoms of an oncoming Crash. The floating monsters before him took his lack of response as an invitation to continue their actions.

“How ‘bout you let me take the lead Tori, with me being a skeleton and all. Best to stick with something even a little familiar to him.” Sans said, and Tori soon agreed. The ghost-skeleton situated himself so he could drag Error’s attention onto him with a hand on his cheek. Sans smiled down at him and pushed their teeth into a kiss.

It was gentle and chaste, Error’s first. He kept waiting for the painful burn of touch to follow, but it never came. It left him lost.

“Please, let us help you.” Tori asked him, her transparent hands caressing him from behind. When she got back there, he didn’t know. All he could focus on was the kiss and careful touch of the specter before him. Sans leaned away, cutting off the kiss, and smiled down at him.

“There, that wasn’t so bad now, was it?” Error, mind light and unfocused, only closed his eyes and leaned into the soft hand on his cheekbone. It felt...nice.

“I’m gonna take care of you, ok? About time someone was gentle with ya.” And Sans pulled him up for another kiss. One much more involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I had fun writing this! It didn't really get to anything raunchy like I had planned, but I just had to stop it where I did. It felt like it needed to end there, or else I wouldn't have done the rest justice. It feels kinda good this way. Anyways, tell me what you think! P.S.: I got stuck on this prompt last year and that's what caused me to give up, but I chose a different situation completely and like this version better. I completely went off of CQ's scene of Error in Spectertale(?), but obviously came up with SpecterLust myself. ^^


	4. Aphrodisiac

Dust woke up woozy and uncoordinated. The world around him wouldn’t stay still, and the most he could tell was he’d been laid on a lumpy bed, in a dimly lit room with no windows. Light suddenly sprouted from across the room and he had to look away, the intensity too much for his unfocused eyes. It almost burned a little.

“You’re awake.” Came a content voice from the light’s direction. There was a squeak as the metal door closed, followed by the clack of heels. Dust tried to center his attention on the other, eyelights struggling against the bright spots in his vision. He flinched when he felt a dip in the bed not far from him, and he instantly tried to summon a bone attack.

When nothing formed, Dust’s confusion grew as he looked towards his empty hand in bewilderment. There was a soft chuckle.

“You’ll find it a bit frustrating to form anything of value for a weapon, I’m afraid. Let’s not waste that energy on something so useless…” The voice grew soft, gentle and encouraging. Dust felt a hand on his sternum apply light pressure. “...And have some fun instead...”

Eyelights turning into pinpricks, Dust used his hands to violently push the other skeleton away. The world may still be off balance for him, but he had clear enough vision without the spots to identify the other monster as a Swapfell Red Sans. He snarled towards the other as he pressed his back to the metal bedpost, making sure to keep the entire room in sight. He could faintly see Papyrus floating nearby with a small smile and eyes gleaming with blood lust.

“I don’t think so.” He growled. Razz just looked at him calmly for a moment, before he raised his hand and pinned him in place with bones. All Dust could do was snarl.

“What you think really isn’t reliable, seeing as you see visions of your dead brother everywhere. My brother is just as dead, and yet he doesn’t haunt me.” Dust threw his brother a demanding look, and Paps rolled his eyes with a begrudging sigh.

‘Really Brother, you take the fun out of everything.’ The phantom grumbled. Dust was having a hard time pinning his eyelights on the floating head, his vision suddenly becoming full of the other living skeleton. Razz tsked.

“Really, you’d think a proper dosage would keep you from acting out, but clearly I’ve underestimated you.” He reached a hand out, slightly caressing Dust’s jaw. With his limbs pinned to his sides, all he could do was sit and let the Swapfell monster lift his jaw up and lick his vertebrae. His eyes searched for his brothers, hot anger translating through them. Papyrus smiled.

‘It’s been a while since I let you enjoy the company of another, dear brother…’ The ghostly head floated to just behind Razz’s form, never noticing the phantoms presence. Dust shivered as he caught his brother's excitement. ‘I think I’ll let you have fun juuust this once.’

Fury swept through Dust’s soul, hot and fast. This situation needed to end, right now.

“Ah, ah, ah. What did I say.” Came the other’s disappointed tone. Dust went to move, glare, snarl, fight back,  _ something- _

He felt a prick to his arm, a slightly painful pinch, and suddenly his world lost balance.

He felt hands catch him as he fell forwards, but when did he do that?

“Much better.” Razz purred. His grip shifted and Dust felt himself sitting in the others lap. Everything started to get too warm.

“You should be feeling the effects soon,” The other smiled down at him, “We wouldn’t want you to feel unprepared after all, would we?” Dust didn’t care about the crazed monster he was pressed to, right now he was preoccupied with how woozy he felt and the burning in his bones. It wouldn’t let up.

It only changed when he felt Razz’s gloved hand on his pelvis. Face coloring a rather bright shade of red, Dust tried his best to fight off the action.

“Shh, sh, sh. I know it’s a little much, but you’ll like it, I promise.” Razz whispered. He used one of his hands to capture Dust’s, allowing his free one to roam freely.

The Bad Sans closed his eyes as his breath hitched at the other’s gentle touch. This whole experience was downright humiliating. He’d never live it down if any of the others found out. Stars forbid any of them actually  _ save _ him. He’d rather choke on dust.

“See? It feels good, right?” Razz shifted so he could reach down further, diving his hand into Dust’s shorts. He tried to jerk away, but the grip across his ribs could be as weak as a twig and he’d still lack the energy to escape. Everything felt hot, and he couldn’t do anything about it. What did this berry give him?

“ah!” He clamped down on his lips, his red ecto forming without his permission. After a moment Razz went over the same spot, some joints in his lower lumbar, and got a similar reaction.

“ah! Stop!”

“Stop? But you’re finally starting to enjoy this!” The Swapfell monster rearranged his limp body on the mattress, moving to hover over his flustered form. Dust tried to close his eyes in defiance, but a slap caused him to refocus on the other above him. Razz’s empty stare soon turned sweet again, and he lay a soft hand where he struck him.

“Don’t deny me again, or else you’ll get much more than this.” It was followed by a chaste kiss, a sweet gesture saved for lovers. Dust didn’t much feel loved right now.

“I’m getting a bit impatient, so how about I speed this up a bit?” Razz questioned, but Dust couldn’t move much minus his mouth, a response garnered by the other’s kiss. A reaction pursued with another, much more active kiss.

As Dust struggled to move his tongue and keep the other from their avid exploration of his mouth, Dust found it hard to breathe. As he lost air in the losing battle, his vision started to grow even worse as focus broke more and more often.

When he was finally allowed to take in a breath, it was to the sound of a choked gasp above him. Dust took a moment to breathe, and felt the grip on him turn lax.

He looked up to find the blurry image of Razz’s shocked expression, a sharp bone protruding from his chest right where his soul would be. Bone marrow sprouted from the area, and Dust saw the moment life left his sockets.

Razz’s body slumped on top of him, bone slowly turning to dust. Soon Dust was covered in his namesake and marrow. He took a moment to breathe, relief and anger appearing as he took in the silence around him. His eyelights moved to glare in the direction of his brother.

“Have fun?” Dust spit out. He eased himself into an upright position, closing his eyes to keep from viewing the spinning world around him. He still felt hot to the touch, Razz’s ministrations doing nothing to curb the lustful desire stirring in his bones and ecto. He tried to unsummon the latter, but was unsuccessful. He sighed.

‘Having trouble, Brother?’ Papyrus had floated a little closer, his disembodied hands moving to hold his face and check his eyelights. Dust just stared at him, breaths coming out roughly now that he didn’t have to pretend in front of someone. His brother's hands were soft on his skull, a welcome touch unlike the one previous. Papyrus’ eyes shifted to his cheek, thumbing over it carefully...

“...Pap?” He asked after a while of silence from the other. Papyrus’ eyes met his again, and Dust relaxed in relief. Hopefully this wouldn’t become one of his brother’s possessive episodes-

He was roughly pushed down against the mattress again, arms pinned above him in a single hold, one hand resting on his spine. Dust sucked in a tight breath at the strength of it. He met Papyrus’ eyelights and promptly shivered at what he saw.

The phantom took the time to float closer, to whisper into the side of his skull.

‘Only I can mark you.’ He floated back a bit and gave him a merry smile.

As Dust lay there, staring up at his dead brother’s ghost, he had a thought. Maybe being saved wouldn’t be so bad.


End file.
